


All My Tears Have Been Used Up

by 0101Binaries01010



Category: The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other, Sad, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:35:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25855219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0101Binaries01010/pseuds/0101Binaries01010
Summary: I'd watched him take that leapA sad fic in which Johnny kills himselfI'm struggling right now with self-harm (I'm 223 days clean rn and I'm really proud of myself woot woot!) I listened to Another Love by Tom Odell while writing this
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	All My Tears Have Been Used Up

Johnny's POV

___

I don't think I'll ever get used to the sting of the belt on my back. It feels like a thousand bee stings and rubbing salt in a wound. I could feel a hot liquid running down my back, which meant he'd broken skin. 

I don't even know what I did this time. I can only assume it's because I came out of my room at the wrong time or my footsteps were annoying him. I heard him grunting after every belt swing, meaning he was tiring. Hopefully, he would just let me get up and not pour lemon juice on my wounds; He did that sometimes. 

I heard his footsteps leave my side and I carefully got up, hissing in pain as I irritated my wounds. The blood was probably dripping onto the floor, something I would have to clean up later, but for now, I didn't care. 

Stepping into the bathroom, I stripped and stood in the shower as I carefully guided shower water down my back to clean my wounds, sometimes hissing but mostly keeping quiet so my dad doesn't burst through the door and hit me more. 

After I did that I wrapped as many bandages I could around my back, making sure to cover the cuts that felt the worst, and carefully put my clothes back on to sleep.

My sleep was dreamless, thankfully.

_

I was awoken by shouting and someone kicking me. I curled in on myself to protect my stomach as blow after blow landed on my stomach, the feeling of my ribs cracking under the repeated blasts making him groan and cry out in pain.

"Shut up!" His father shouted down at him. His words were slurred, but then again, when weren't they? His father was a horribly violent person, taking his anger out on anything and anyone. 

I could only whimper in response and try not to cry. I hated this more than I hated the belt. My father wore steel-toed boots making his kicks ten times more painful. 

"This is what you get for being so fucking careless!" His father screeched at him. I knew what he meant; A few months ago, he had brought out a gun and tried to shoot me. I ran outside and he followed and the Curtis' got involved, Dallas distracting my father as a neighbor called the police. The police had us go inside as they threatened my dad while my dad tried to blame me, pointing at the house we were in to try and somehow get his point across. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I cried; I just wanted him to stop. 

He stopped after a few more seconds, the aching in his ribs stayed constant, though.

"Next time we get the fucking police on our ass, you won't be so fucking lucky, you worthless piece of shit," Dad spit at me before walking off to the living room, likely to have more beer. 

I was close to sobbing, pain in my ribs multiplying with every sob and twitch. I stayed down for at least thirty minutes, calming myself down enough that my ribs weren't hurting so bad and I could stop crying. 

I got up to look in the broken and dirty mirror that sat at the end of my room. Slowly limping towards the mirror, I gripped my ribs as if that would keep them in place as I made the torturous walk. Once I stood in front of the mirror, I lifted my shirt to reveal already bruising ribs and a cut near the left side of my ribs, the cut slowly leaking blood. 

I quickly limped over to my bags, rummaging through the worn things before I found the little case that I was looking for. It held two pencil sharpener erasers and some bandages.

I started cutting the week the social worker and police came, my dad unable to leave any type of bruise on me so he resorted to mental and verbal abuse. The verbal abuse hurt just as much as the physical abuse, the harsh words cutting deep into my brain, ingraining themselves into my regular thought process. 

I brought the sharp piece of metal to my upper arm, the metal hovering over my skin before I brought it down and broke the skin open, feeling the tearing of flesh and knowing that I was the one causing this pain. The pain felt good, it took away the mental strain of not breaking down and being able to force emotions out. 

I only did one cut today, so I quickly wrapped it and pulled on my jean jacket before limping over to the Curtis household, trying not to trip over my own feet. When I got there, everyone seemed to be angry at each other, the tension in the air thicker than honey. 

"Hey," I said quietly. All heads snapped towards me before they continued what they were doing. 

"What happened?" I asked while trying to figure out why they were all so distant at each other. 

"Where the fuck have you been?" Dallas said with a pissy tone. I flinched since I wasn't used to that tone being directed at me. 

"A s-social worker a-and the police have been on us all week, I haven't had time to h-hang out with y'all, I'm sorry," I stuttered out. Normally I never stuttered this much but they were all angry and when people are angry I assume it's about me, even though most of the time it isn't about me. 

"So that's where you've been, huh? You sure you aren't fucking lying to us?" Dallas spit out, he looked revolted by just the sight of me, his icy blue eyes narrowing towards me like I'm his prey, and in some ways, I am. 

"I've been trapped in my house, that's it, I swear, please believe me," I glanced around at the gang who were all pretty much glaring daggers at me. I felt my eyes start to water as I looked for someone who would help me, but it seemed as though I was alone in this. 

"Liar," Two-Bit spit out. I'd never heard him so hostile before.

I decided to just book it, go back to my house, anything would be better than that. 

My feet pounding against the cement as I made the short run back to my house, sobs racking my body as I tried to remember what was supposed to happen this week. I arrived at my house within three minutes, my feet pounding up to the house and quietly opening the door, not wanting to disturb my parents. I glanced at the living room as I passed by, my parents both asleep, probably fell asleep after fighting with each other. 

I went to my room and started writing a note to the gang, saying how sorry I was, knowing that now I wouldn't be missed. 

I had lost them

The gang was the only thing keeping me alive and I lost them

I fucked up and I lost them

Its all my fault

_

I had written the note and placed it on my pillow, a few tear droplets making it onto the note as I did so, the ink getting on my hands. I decided that I would jump off the bridge just outside of town, waiting until dark to do it so that the chance of anyone stopping me was low. 

Stepping out into the darkness, I started my walk to the bridge, my face towards the ground as I thought about the month's events, how the gang had all become more distant and how we were falling apart. It was obvious we were all growing apart, but I didn't want to see it since they were the only family I had ever known. It was time to let go now, I had messed up the chance of being with them for however long that would've been. 

It was a cold night for just a jean jacket, something Mrs. Curtis had given to me before she died. The Curtis parents didn't deserve to go, they were everything parents should be and more. 

_

I got to the bridge and climbed over the rail, grabbing the rail for balance as I got ready to jump. In the distance, I could hear people calling my name, but I didn't care, not anymore. 

Taking a final look down, I lifted my arms and for a moment I was flying, feeling the air rush against my fingertips before it all went black. 

Dallas's POV

_____

I rushed towards Johnny, calling his name frantically as he looked down towards the water. I kept screaming his name but he wouldn't listen. 

I was near him when he fell, lifting his arms and tilting his feet forwards, plunging himself into the rushing rapids below him. 

I could barely register myself screaming as I collapsed in front of the railing, arms through the gaps in the wood trying desperately to reach out and somehow summon him in my arms. I could hear the choked sounds of the gang behind me as they cried as well.

The only thing I could think about was how I watched him take that leap. 

_

They were able to recover his body within the next two days, some of his limbs twisted wildly from the current but other than that he looked like the normal Johnny. 

I kept thinking about how if I didn't yell at him, maybe he would still be here if I kept my mouth shut that day maybe he would still be here. In response, I've become silent in hopes that no more of my friends will kill themselves. 

The funeral was dark and gloomy, only the gang showed since we didn't bother inviting other people. We decided on an open casket so that we could give him things, a pack of cools, his switch, his jean jacket, and I gave him a note. 

Dear Johnny,

Why'd ya have to do that, man? We can't stop thinking about it and we regret every treating you like that. Darry hasn't been himself, Soda doesn't smile, Two-Bit doesn't watch Mickey or drink much anymore, Steve stopped wearing his vest, Pony doesn't talk much anymore, and I don't talk at all. I don't smoke anymore, drink anymore, fight anymore, I just don't do much. You were my best buddy, man. When I saw you fall, my heart stopped beating, my breathing quickened and we all cried. I cried so fucking hard that night, and the nights following that. You were the one person that I knew that could go through all that shit and still come out golden. I know you thought we hated you, but we didn't and don't, I was just angry and made the rest of the gang angry. It's my fault and I'm so fucking sorry.

-Dallas Winston

I placed it in his cold hands, only briefly touching them because if I touched them more I would start bawling, even though I was already crying. 

It was time to carry him to his grave, the six-foot hole sitting on top of a hill with a bench and a tree so that maybe Johnny can look out at the sky and find some comfort.

His casket was lighter than other ones I've carried, probably because he hadn't ever weighed more than one hundred pounds in life. 

_

We finally laid him to rest in his grave, the rest of us just sitting near it, though we aren't allowed to. 

I sat in front of the hole, my tears dripping down onto the dirt. I was nearly sobbing now, my throat aching and eyes hurting from how many times I've done it.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Johnnycakes. Just please come back, please, come back," 


End file.
